Multiverse Systems: Demonic Resurrection in the Primordial Tower

AN: Hey guys! How are you?!

As you must have realised, the publishing rate of chapters here has fallen considerably. I am really sorry for that. It isn't like I can't give you chapters, but I can't help it, either.

Many current readers has shown immense support for the revamped work, Chaos and Order, donating their valuable Power Stones. However, I am still losing close to hundred Power Stones on this novel every week, despite requesting many times to vote only for the revamped fanfic.

Now, each reader can decide what and who to vote, so I will never emphasize to give me votes. I can only request.

As whenever I publish a chapter, the voted Power Stones for this novel increases by a lot. That's why I am keeping the publishing rate low. Believe me, it has helped me a lot to transfer Power Stones from this to the revamped. Anyway, the publishing rate here might remain same for at least this month. From next month onwards, we can resume our 5-6 chapters/day.

Bonus Chapters are still valid. However, the Mass Release Goal is still pending even after 2 months. So I don't think readers here want too many chapters anyway. Haha!

Alright. Same old news: You can access over 22 chapters on WN and Ko-Fi. Please consider supporting the fanfic and the author. Its a great source of motivation.

Mass Release Goal Progress: 80%... 

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Chapter Begins:

21 July 1991

England

In the Craven district of North Yorkshire, England, there was a small village named Cunestune.

Miles away from the nearest city, and nestled in the heart of the Yorkshire Dales, the village boldly supported a population of 130, mostly self-supported.

The highlights of the small village were its stunning, natural beauty and historic buildings and landmarks, including the 12th-century St. Mary's Church and the impressive Cunestune Dib, a narrow limestone gorge.

It was also surrounded by rolling hills, lush green fields, and brooks.

With its picturesque countryside and quaint stone cottages, it wasn't one of those places where you would find foreign people unless they were tourists.

So when Minerva McGonagall apparated to the outskirts of the village on the evening of the 21st, she felt as if she had stepped into a different world.

"Blimey, Dumbledore!" Minerva cursed, looking at the desolate, quiet twilight. "Where did you send me this time?"

Where one would have marveled at the lush, darkening greenery, Minerva scowled, swatting the buzzing mosquitoes with her wand.

One of the mosquitoes almost went into her nose.

Minerva's lips twisted. Her wand let out sparks as it lit up several mosquitoes, burning them to a crisp.

Even her tall, top hat almost slipped off her head during this intense fight.

"This…" Minerva adjusted her hat, frowning, "… better be worth it!"

She put her wand into the sleeves of her loose, wizarding robes. Suddenly, her gaze fell on the envelope in her left hand, and her anger against the Headmaster abated a bit.

Surprisingly, her frown deepened, though.

As the Deputy Headmistress of Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry, it was Minerva's job to note down the names of all students from the Book of Admittance who would be joining the school this year.

It was then she noticed a name that had sent a chill down her spine.

When she had reported the matter to Dumbledore, she had expected him to send someone to look into the matter.

But not like this! Minerva thought, shaking her head in exasperation. And certainly not her! Even Hagrid could have done this much, given all his negligence in the serious matters. No?

Holding her robe up with her right hand, and tightening her grip on the letter, Minerva stepped toward the gloomy-looking village.

However, the more she neared the settlement, the livelier her surroundings became.

The noise of chickens and dogs entered her ears, and then she spied the first person here. It was a farmer, riding on an ox-cart.

The farmer gave an odd look to the witch as he directed the ox with a stick. "Tch-tch!"

"Excuse me…" Minerva called out, remembering what Dumbledore had asked her to do. "Excuse me, good sir!"

The farmer reluctantly paused. "Yes…?"

"Can you direct me to the Old Hall?"

The farmer's mustache drooped in puzzlement. "Ain't no Old Hall here, missy."

Missy?! Minerva's lips scrunched at the muggle's remark. "Where does the Black Family live then?" she asked, hoping to gain some info here.

The farmer's eyes lit up. "Oh, the Blacks!" he shouted, shifting in his seat. "You go straight down the road, missy," he said, pointing at the road behind him with the stick. "Mind the mud, will ya? It rained yesterday. You are lookin' for Alexis Hall."

Alexis? Minerva pressed her brows as if remembering something. Alexia Walkin Black, perhaps? "Uhh… yeah, the Blacks. They have been here for long?"

Now the farmer just gaped at the witch. He closed and opened his mouth several times as if struggling to find the right words. "Long, you ask?!" he exclaimed, his blood pressure rising. "Blacks were here before meself, me father, and me grandfather, missy! Me mother say they are older than the place!! You doubt me mother?!!!"

"No, no!" Minerva hurriedly replied, hoping to calm the man down.

The farmer was now huffing and puffing, his eyes going to the witch's stupid-looking hat. The ox grunted along with him, puffs of misting breath shooting out of his huge nostrils.

"Alright, thank you!" Minerva walked away, taking the clue. "Even the muggles are different here…" she muttered under her breath, looking over her shoulder.

The farmer was still eying her, his body melting into the darkness.

Minerva almost took out her wand.

"Oh, hello!"

"Blimey!" Minerva jumped, her hat slipping off for good this time.

"Ah!" a fat lady ran toward her, holding her mouth. "Did me scare ya?" she asked, lifting the hat with a gentle smile. "Pardon me manners. Meself Angela."

"Huh? Oh, hello," Minerva held the hat in her hand this time, hiding her wand within it. "I was going toward the Old.. Alexis Hall."

The fat lady's smile broadened. "You are a guest of the Blacks?!" she exclaimed cheerfully. "Well, why didn't ya begin with that? Good people, the Blacks. Always help meself and me husband."

Minerva's old eyes lit up. "I have some business with them," she said, now spying more villagers here and there. "It's my first time meeting them."

"Oh, you will love them!" Angela hopped. "Mr. and Mrs. Black are the kindest people me know. But…"

"But?!" Minerva stepped near the fat lady.

"But their son's a bit odd," Angela finished, blushing with shame.

"Odd? Like how?"

Before Minerva could get an answer, Angela ran away, her cheeks becoming redder than red. The witch's lips twitched. And I thought this one was normal…

As she kept going, Minerva McGonagall kept asking about the Blacks from one person and another, getting almost the same response.

The Blacks are kind.

The Blacks help the villagers.

The Blacks are the wealthiest people they know.

The Blacks got an 11-year-old son.

He is odd.

…

The Noble and Most Ancient House of Black was one of the largest, oldest, and wealthiest pure-blooded wizarding families in Great Britain, and one of the Sacred Twenty-Eight. Many wizarding families were distantly related to the House of Black.

Minerva never liked them.

Also, the House of Black was known for discarding the squibs born into the family.

So it didn't come as a surprise to Minerva that some distant relatives from ages ago had settled down in this muggle village.

But the timing was a bit too coincidental, as Dumbledore had put it. Especially with what happened with Sirius, and the young Potter joining Hogwarts this year, they decided to look into it by sending a Special Messenger along with the Hogwarts Acceptance Letter.

From what she got to know till now, Minerva had already confirmed their doubts were ill-founded.

Still, she was here. It wouldn't be professional if she went back without acting her part.

Suddenly, she arrived in front of a stone-walled, handsome house with typical Yorkshire Limestone facade.

Minerva took the wide staircase leading to the front door, looking at the well-cared lawns on each side.

Under the porchway, there were three umbrellas, resting in a bucket.

Minerva held herself from trying them out and knocked.

The wooden door opened with a rainy creak. "Yes?" a young maid asked, eying the tall witch.

…

After a few minutes of introduction, Minerva found herself seated near the fireplace in an incredible lounge.

"Ms. Minerva?" a manly voice arrived from the other side of the room.

The Deputy Headmistress stood up to her full height.

In his black coat and pants, the black-haired man looked… young. He was followed by an incredibly beautiful woman with blonde, curly hair, but equally young.

The man smiled. "Good evening," he greeted, approaching the witch. "I am Peter. My wife, Celeste."

"Good evening," Minerva greeted back, feeling out of place among the charming muggles.

"Are you from Hogwarts?" Mr. Peter Black asked, smiling.

Minerva's shoulders shook.

"Haha!" Peter laughed, gesturing for the witch to take a seat, too. "Our roots are old, Ms. Minerva, as you must know. We know some truths of the wizarding world, despite not being able to be a part of it."

Minerva sat down, still surprised. Does Dumbledore know the muggles are aware of their family background? Yes. He must be.

"Forgive me," Mrs. Black intervened, her eyes narrowing. "Correct me if I am wrong. Is it normal for a Staff member to visit the student's home, when the parents are aware of the magical world?"

Minerva found herself lost. No. It wasn't normal. Sending a letter through the owl was the norm practiced throughout Britain.

"Haha!" Peter laughed boisterously. "It doesn't matter. Sometimes, my wife takes too much pride in our family name. We are nothing but muggles now, Celeste. Forget it. You must be here to act as the Special Messenger, right?"

"Oh, yes, yes," Minerva hurriedly replied. She brought out the letter. "If you please…"

"Sure…" Mr. Black smiled at her. "Let me call him down. He has always been waiting for this letter."

Peter passed the word to the maid as she plated food and tea on the table between them.

Soon, Minerva heard steps.

It was like the lack of the sound of the rain after a downpour. Or the lack of the breeze after a thunderstorm.

It was soft and silent.

It was calm.

"Ms. Minerva," Celeste said with a touch of smugness. "Meet our son… Arlen Black."